


Tempting You With Your Desires

by sanerontheinside



Series: Prompts Tumbl'd [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2016-11-13
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:51:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sanerontheinside/pseuds/sanerontheinside
Summary: Prompt: QuiObi--hope you don't mind I'm going to prompt a specific position--Qui-Gon likes fucking Obi-Wan against the wall with his hands pinned above his head.





	

His every sense was heightened, sharpened, attuned to the one person in the world whom he could trust like this - blindfolded and in the dark. 

Soft breath on his skin, silk-smooth lips, cool air where that tongue had traced. Hands on his arms in a firm grip, pressing him back against the wall. Feather-light kisses alternating with sharp bites in no pattern he could discern, along his collarbones and chest. 

Every now and then that wicked mouth edged close to a sensitive spot and he fought to keep himself still, because if he shifted even a little it might stop. This beautiful torment would end with no promise of resumption, and he couldn’t even bear the thought. 

More often than not, the tantalising touch would dance away. As it did now, in fact, pulling a muted groan from his throat. All movement stopped, but for light breath on his chest. He had all of one bare instant’s warning of hot breath on his nipple before he felt a hard bite and gasped as fire tore through him. All higher thought was driven from his mind in a flash of that heat, and he moved before he could stop himself, shifting into that bite with a low moan. 

He froze, but too late - hard hands were at his hips, shoving him back against the wall almost roughly, and the heat of that mouth was gone. Then those hands plunged into his hair, though mindful of the blindfold, and tipped his head back. 

“I thought I told you to stay still,” a voice hissed in a searing whisper. He shivered, felt hot hands and tense fingers at the nape of his neck, felt a warning scrape of teeth at his throat - tightening just slightly - and then letting him go. 

Letting him go completely. He stood, or rather leaned heavily against the wall behind him, shivering and suddenly very alone, completely at the mercy of his partner. He felt vulnerable, exposed and wanting, craving that burning contact that teased and taunted and made him want to beg. But he wouldn’t let himself beg yet, no, he wanted that touch on his skin again, he wanted those hands and that mouth to drive him to distraction - 

The heat of another body drew close to him, a promise of something more, perhaps he wouldn’t have to wait long at all. He felt a hand draw near - _please,_ he thought - but only for a unsatisfyingly light stroke up his length, as quickly gone as it had come. He bit back a whimper, brow knotted in frustration. 

With a light touch, fingers traced his lips, stroked down his cheeks, smoothed out the furrows in his brow. Gentle kisses were pressed to his jaw, lips dragging against the rasp of his beard, the flat of a tongue pressed against his hammering pulse point. Lips closed over an unrelenting bite, sucking blood to the surface in a mark that his tunics would just barely hide. His breath hitched at the mere thought of it. 

His lover was all teeth and kisses, and _someday,_ he had time to think, that mouth would be his undoing. _Or those hands,_  he realised, as nails scratched down his sides, leaving deliciously prickling lines. It also took him far too long to realise the implication of the path they took - down, over his hips and to his thighs. Not until he felt hot breath on the head of his cock, there one moment and gone the next, and then stillness. 

Waiting _again._  He groaned. 

“Something you want?” 

_Oh gods_ - “Touch me, please touch me, don’t -”

“Oh, is that all?” The voice sounded warm and amused, not a little bit wicked. “And here I was, thinking you’d want something more,” it mused, lilting. 

His mouth went dry. “More?” He hardly dared to ask. 

“I thought you might like to fuck me.” 

He went absolutely still. 

A soft chuckle floated up as his lover rose slowly and leaned in to growl into his ear: “Pressed into the wall, hands pinned above my head, tell me you haven’t been thinking about it all night -”

“Fuck!” 

He couldn’t stand it a second longer. Qui-Gon tore away the blindfold and surged forward, as if all the invisible links holding him bound had snapped at once. He rounded on Obi-Wan - _still too dressed, damn the Force-begotten imp!_  - turning and trapping him against the wall with his greater weight, panting harshly. It took Qui-Gon a moment to remember he was free beyond that, to do and to touch as he wished, and all he wanted was to kiss the man senseless. 

Obi-Wan obligingly tore at his own clothes with shaking fingers, though too lost in that kiss for the effort to be effective. Eventually Qui-Gon pulled back and batted his hands away, making short work of the tunics and leggings, wasting no time in wrapping his arms around Obi-Wan again. He didn’t want to be apart any more than necessary, any more than they already had been. 

It was gratifying to feel Obi-Wan press into that contact, arching against him like a cat. Qui-Gon ran his hands over the soft skin he’d been denied the feel of for so long, almost losing himself in every soft keening sound that escaped his mate. 

That is, until his fingers brushed oiled skin and he half-jumped in surprise, pulling back just far enough to stare down at Obi-Wan. His mate grinned back up at him, looking impish and just this side of smug. 

“Wanted to see how long you’d resist,” Obi-Wan whispered. 

Qui-Gon groaned and dropped his head to rest his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “You - are definitely evil,” he gasped out. 

Strong arms encircled his neck, as Obi-Wan rose up on his toes. “Just the right kind of evil,” he whispered into Qui-Gon’s ear. 

He must have been thoroughly prepared for the sudden hard grip of Qui-Gon’s hands on his arms and the dull thud with which he was pressed back against the wall, wrists pinned above his head, for he laughed. It was a glorious sound, sun-bright laughter that might have been contagious, if not for Qui-Gon’s desperation. Still laughing, Obi-Wan slowly hitched his knee up to Qui-Gon’s hip and wrapped his leg around Qui-Gon’s back, dragging him in close. 

 


End file.
